


My Depths for You

by Shells19



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Anniversary, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Domestic!Clint, M/M, Pancakes, SO MUCH FLUFF, Surprise Party, True Love, domestic!bucky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-02
Updated: 2017-03-02
Packaged: 2018-09-27 23:12:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10056182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shells19/pseuds/Shells19
Summary: Somewhere down the line, Bucky Barnes had become the sun, and Clint’s life had begun revolving around him. Neither had expected their feelings to become so strong, to grow in strength or in depth. But it had.





	

**Author's Note:**

> There is so much fluff, it was actually getting kind of hard to finish. But I think it worked out well! And this is my first WinterHawk Big Bang, so I'm proud of my first attempt. I hope you all like it. :)

                The smell of pancakes pulled him from that place in between sleep and wakefulness, slowly making him aware of things he wouldn’t have been before. Like the warmth of the sun on his bare chest, the weight and pressure against his side that he knew wasn’t from a human, the noise that drifted from the kitchen, a humming, off-tuned sound that had Clint’s lips curving lazily into a smile. He was also made aware of the discomfort in his ears from where he obviously fell asleep with his hearing-aids in again. Sighing, Clint opened his eyes and glanced down. Pressed against his hip was Lucky, his tail gently wagging against the grey sheets. Too tired to force him off the bed, Clint ran a hand through the soft, thick fur.

                “You know you’re not supposed to be in the bed.” Clint grumbled, his voice heavy with sleep. “Stubborn ass.”

                He should probably get up. He was awake and it was unlikely that he would fall back asleep, but the warmth of the sheets prevented him from moving. Rolling onto his side, his body facing the doorway, Clint released a content sigh and listened to what was happening in the kitchen. Bucky was more than likely covered in the food that he was preparing, humming to some nameless tune that Clint couldn’t pin down. He could hear the sound of Bucky moving around the kitchen, and he found himself inhaling deeply, trying to pinpoint other smells. Surely, he wasn’t making _just_ pancakes. How boring.

                The sounds were a comfort, but it was the visual in his head that had Clint’s smile turn into something more personal. The last time he had walked in on Bucky in the kitchen, he was wearing boxers. He could remember the way his breath had caught in his throat, his eyes immediately roaming up and down his body, taking in the lean muscle and the tanned skin, how his hair curled behind his ears as he chewed on his lip, entirely focussed on what he was cooking. He could remember how he couldn’t help himself in closing the distance between them, how he had placed his hands on Bucky’s hips and pressed his lips against the back of his neck. Clint could remember a lot about what happened later on that night, of how gentle Bucky’s hands had been, how euphoric it had felt having Bucky inside of him, his back laid flush against the kitchen’s island –

                “Is that a boner?” The voice broke Clint out of his thoughts, had his eyes opening.

                And he noticed the pressure, the desire that was brewing and tenting his boxers. Feeling only slightly embarrassed, Clint said: “Maybe,” before sitting up. The air was chilly after staying wrapped up in sheets. Clint shivered slightly, running his hands over his arms.

                Snorting, Bucky walked deeper into the room. He was wearing black boxers and a light blue shirt that brought out his tanned skin – a detail that Clint immediately latched onto. It also brought out how shiny his left arm was, how gentle the soft mechanical whirling sound his arm made with every sway. Every movement about Bucky was methodical and precise. Even when he appeared casual, there was a fluidity to him. He was in complete control of every muscle in his body.

                Clint wondered what was going through his head as he slowly sauntered toward him. The many theories that were flitting through his head were soon cast away when Bucky pulled the light blue shirt over his head and tossed it on the ground before crawling onto the bed and over Clint, forcing him down on his back. His heart started pounding against his rib-cage, the blood coursing throughout his entire body, flowing downward.

                Patting Lucky absently, Bucky said: “Out, buddy,” before leaning down and pressing his lips against Clint’s neck, sucking on his pulse. Clint’s lips immediately parted, a sigh easing from him. His arms came up and circled around Bucky’s shoulders, his body languid and relaxed and at Bucky’s complete mercy. “Good morning.”

                “Morning.” Clint moaned out, feeling Bucky’s hips lower until he was just barely touching him. Even though he still had a sheet covering his lower half, Clint could feel the heat. And it was driving him absolutely crazy. Blood was rushing, his heart was pounding, and he was sure that Bucky was well-aware of it all. “I smell pancakes.”

                “Mmm.” Bucky breathed out, running his nose along the side of Clint’s face before nibbling at his jaw-line, his breath hot against his neck. It caused a shiver to shoot right through him. “They’re resting comfortably in the oven.”

                Against his better judgement, Clint furrowed his brow and turned his head slightly, allowing him to look easier at Bucky. “You put the pancakes in the oven?”

                It didn’t surprise him when Bucky rolled his eyes and physically moved his head back to where it was. Instead of nibbling at his jaw-line like he had been before, he bit down on his neck, causing a startled gasp to escape him. It all shot downward, making the pressure intensify in his lower-belly. “Shut up. I’m trying to sex you up.”

                Before he could make a comment about that, before he could come up with a smart-ass joke that would have Bucky scowling, he felt a hand slip along his chest and stomach, and Clint almost choked on air when he realised that it was Bucky’s left hand. He could feel the power, could hear the faint whirling sound as that cool hand slipped under the sheets and then under the hem of his boxers, brushing along the fine dust of hair.

                “Fuck –” He barely managed to get out before his head lolled to the side.

                The hand slowly started to stroke him, fingers wrapped around him lightly. “That’s for tonight.” Bucky purred into his ear before catching the lobe between his teeth, sucking on it. The plates in his arm started to vibrate, sending shockwave after shockwave through Clint. He could barely catch his breath, could barely even see straight. He didn’t even know he was moving, rolling his hips upward into Bucky’s hand until he heard him murmuring words of encouragement into his ear. His mind was so scrambled; he couldn’t understand the Russian words.

                He would have been embarrassed that he had come so soon if it wasn’t for the waves of pleasure sweeping over his entire body, causing him to slump back down into the bed. His body was shaking and his mind was fuzzy and cloudy, leaving him in a state of bliss. From above him where Bucky still remained, Clint could hear him chuckling quietly, a low rumble that had his stomach flutter. When he opened his eyes, he was met with the sight of Bucky licking his fingers.

                He groaned. “Christ, Buck. You can’t just go around doing that.”

                “I don’t see you complaining.” Bucky replied almost immediately, brows raising. Leaning down, he pressed his lips against Clint’s. Clint could taste himself. It had his head spinning. But before he could further sink into those sensations, Bucky pulled away. “Come on. Pancakes are getting cold.”

                Bucky didn’t give him the chance to process anything that he had said. One second he was lying down over him and the next, Clint was watching him pick up his shirt as he padded out of the bedroom without a backward glance, his footfalls light, but audible against his hardwood flooring. Before he could help himself, Clint smiled and sat back up, pulling the sheets away from his body. Now that was the kind of morning that he could get behind, the kind where Bucky made him breakfast and then crawled into bed to give him a hand-job. But, honestly, it wasn’t even that that had a warm sensation flooding his system and causing his breath to hitch and the smile on his face from disappearing. It was that Bucky _wanted_ to do all of those things. It was because Bucky _liked_ doing all of those things, that he went out of his way to _do_ those things.

                And he loved Lucky. And if none of those bore any weight then that fact did. He loved Clint’s dog.

                Running the brush over his teeth briefly, Clint took a quick shower and emerged out of the bedroom fifteen minutes later. He wore a pair of jeans and a purple T-shirt. His feet were bare, the coolness of the hardwood feeling good on his feet after such a hot shower. When he walked into the kitchen, he found that Bucky was dressed, too, that his once loose hair was now tied into a bun at the base of his neck, revealing a few freckles. The light blue shirt he was wearing was tight, giving Clint a clear view of the hard muscles in his back – muscles that Clint had run his hands over multiple times before.

                Clint knew that Bucky heard him making his way through to the kitchen. But only when he stepped into the kitchen did he turn his head in acknowledgement. “Eat up,” he said, “we’re meeting Steve at the Tower.”

                “Why?” Clint asked, furrowing his brow. He couldn’t remember making plans to head to the Tower. If anything, he was expecting a restful day on the couch with Bucky on one side of him and Lucky on the other. Said dog got up from where he was lying on the couch and moved over to Clint’s side, looking up at him expectantly. Rolling his eyes, Clint tore off a piece of his pancake and handed it over to the dog.

                “We agreed no more table scraps.” Bucky replied without even glancing over at Clint. He was busy putting dishes into the washer.

                “You haven’t answered my question.”

                “Steve said that he and Natasha had a little get-together set up for us. Something about an anniversary.” If Clint wasn’t mistaken, he could have sworn he saw a blush creep across his cheeks. Of course, Bucky still hadn’t looked at him, so it was hard to tell.

                Clint frowned. “An anniversary? We’ve just been living together …”

                “Yeah, well, Steve’s a punk, who thinks he has a wicked sense of humour.” Bucky finally turned to look at him, leaning his hip against the counter. He was drying his hands on a dish-towel, and it struck Clint how good he looked being domestic. How he wouldn’t mind waking up to that exact sight for the rest of his life. “Unfortunately for him, I’m not going to allow him to win.”

                “Win what? He knows we’re together.”

                “I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to win, but he won’t.” Bucky tossed the dish-towel to the side before pushing a strand of hair behind his ear. “So hurry up and eat.  I’m going to take Lucky out for a short walk before we go.”

                For not the first time that morning, Clint found that he had absolutely no time to say anything before Bucky was moving. Coming around the island, Bucky pecked him on the cheek before ushering Lucky out of the kitchen and through the living room, heading toward the door. Clint furrowed his brow and swivelled around in his seat, watching as Bucky shrugged on a jacket and a baseball cap, and opening the door, leading Lucky out. Blowing out a sigh, Clint slowly turned back around, his brows scrunched in thought.

                It was no secret that he and Bucky had been together. He thought it was pretty apparent with how protective they were of each other, of the way they looked and gravitated toward each other when they were separate, always making sure that they had eyes on one another. But for the others to actually take note of it and do something about it – i.e. celebrate it – was somewhat of a shock. It felt odd. But, the more Clint thought about it, there was no way he was going to miss it and allow Tony or Steve to make a big deal out of it. Because they would. Because they were horrible separate and even worse when they were together, ganging up on him and Bucky.

                Wolfing down the pancakes that Bucky made, Clint absently thought about how he’d have to get Bucky to cook more often for him.

* * *

 

                The wind was biting and sharp and no amount of curling himself against Bucky’s side could protect him entirely from the coldness of the morning. Despite the low temperatures, there were many people milling about the streets of New York City, talking on their mobiles or to each other, the sound of car horns and screeching tires against the asphalt filling their ears. There was always something going on in the city, and with the lateness of the year, with the Christmas music playing faintly from passing stores and from the light flurry falling from the sky, the sidewalks seemed even more crowded than usual.

                Which was one of the reasons why Clint was so thankful when they finally walked into the Tower. Warmth immediately engulfed him, causing his cheeks to redden. When they got into the elevator and started rising up to the penthouse apartments, Clint took off his gloves and rubbed his hands together, glancing over at Bucky, who was running his hands through his hair, shaking out any of the flurries that got stuck in the brown strands. The act had his hair look ruffled and dishevelled, and Clint couldn’t help but take a step closer, lifting a hand of his own to run through it.

                Bucky stopped and looked at Clint, a curious, content look on his face. Unlike before, unlike a few years ago, his expression was open and revealing. As if it was a reflex, Bucky angled his body to face Clint’s and placed his hands on his hips, pulling him closer.

                “Your hair is getting long.” Clint said after a moment, turning his finger around a longer strand.

                Bucky hummed, the sound deep and reverberating in his throat. The sound alone had a shiver run right down Clint’s spine, and it had nothing to do with the chill. “You’re going to have to cut it then.”

                _That_ had Clint snorting. “Yeah. Right. The last time I did that, you bitched about it for an entire month.”

                “It wasn’t your best cut.” Bucky shrugged.

                “That was the only cut I had ever given you!” Clint retorted, fingers still absently stroking Bucky’s hair, occasionally rubbing his scalp. Past experience had told him that it was something that helped calm Bucky when he was most stressed. It had been an easy habit to pick up after that. “In fact, I re-call you –”

                The words were cut off and erased from his mind when Bucky closed the distance between them and pressed their lips together. On instinct, Clint closed his eyes and parted his lips, quietly gasping when Bucky’s tongue slid into his mouth, brushing against his. It was then – and it was strange how he hadn’t noticed it before – that he realised just how close Bucky was standing. Or perhaps he did notice. There was really no such thing as personal space with them. Bucky had his arms wrapped around his mid-section and a leg positioned in between his. And Clint’s arms had come up and wrapped around Buck’s neck, pulling him even closer. Half the time, he couldn’t even re-call moving. One second Bucky was there, and the next, they were practically glued together. It was a comfort as much as it was a means of survival.

                “You talk so much.” Bucky murmured against his lips when they finally broke for air. It seemed, however, that he had no plans of putting any distance between them. His eyes were still hooded and he was still nipping at his lower lip, hands strong where they were splayed along his back.

                “I thought you liked that.” Clint replied. His heart was pounding against his rib-cage. He had noticed a while ago that it wasn’t arousal, but an acute sense of emotion that he felt toward Bucky. Having him so close and knowing that Bucky found comfort in being so close to him … it brought out all sorts of feelings he had no idea he was even able to possess. It made him realise just how far he would go to make sure the man in his arms was safe.

                “Not when we’re having a moment, idiot.”

                Clint was still chuckling when Bucky closed the distance between them once more. If possible, he stepped even closer, pressing Clint against the wall of the elevator, pinning him in close. With every little movement, he could hear the soft mechanical whirling of Bucky’s left arm, and it was a sound that had become more of a relief than anything else. It was something like a lullaby when he was having a particularly hard night, when he found sleep to be an impossibility. It was a sense of assurance when they were in the midst of some kind of battle and he needed help, knowing that no matter what, when he held onto that arm, he was going to be okay. It was a sound that was purely _Bucky_ , and that was something that Clint _needed_ to hear to get through the day.

                “Well, whenever you’re done having your moment, everyone is waiting.”

                It took a moment for her voice to register, but when Clint was finally able to put a face to that voice – and he was sure that Bucky was working through the same thing – clarity started coming back. He felt an amused smirk curling his lips upward when Bucky growled, turning a scowl on Natasha, though she didn’t even bat an eye. If anything, she looked unimpressed.

                “You ruined it.” Bucky bit out.

                Natasha shrugged her shoulders, her red-hair bouncing with the action. “You’re in the communal elevator. You’re lucky it was me and not Steve or Tony. Now they really would have ruined it.”

                “Yeah, yeah.” Bucky grumbled, taking Clint’s hand and pulling away. Clint almost whined at the loss, at the sudden chill that went right through his body when Bucky put distance between them. “We’re coming.” Thankfully, Clint didn’t have to worry much about not being able to touch Bucky. He seemed as though the last thing he wanted was to let Clint go, which suited him just fine. There was nothing more re-assuring than feeling Bucky’s warm body pressed against his.

                When they stepped out of the elevator and walked around the corner, the whole room seemed to open up. Stark’s sleek design was obvious everywhere they looked, with dark counters and granite countertops dividing the kitchen from the living area. Concrete floors ran the entire length of the room, running all the way toward a large table that could easily fit twenty people if the chairs were closer than what they were. And there were floating lanterns all along the ceiling, ranging from styles to colours to words and phrases in all different languages. And if that wasn’t confusing enough, there was food and presents along another table that was pressed against the side of the wall, tucked under a window, which led to a breath-taking view of Manhattan’s skyline. And all of the Avengers were standing off to the side with an array of expression on their faces. They looked happy and excited and nervous and –

                “Hang on.” Clint couldn’t help but ask. And only when he broke the silence did he realise just how long they had been standing around, looking at the scene in front of them. “What is going on? What’s all this?”

                “Party. You know, that thing that friends do when they get together with food and a lot of alcohol.” Tony replied. And while Clint could only smirk in amusement, he was confident that Bucky was rolling his eyes so hard. But he was relaxed. His body wasn’t tense or rigid, his face wasn’t a mask. He appeared open and at ease with everyone in the room, something that had taken him quite a while to master. It had Clint’s heart swelling, his hand tightening in Bucky’s grip.

                Shaking his head minutely – though Clint could see the fondness in his eyes, the way Tony’s expression softened whenever he looked back at him, the way they seemed to complement each other in just the right ways, and only when he recognised those signs did he wonder just how long he’d been lost in his own universe to not realise just how long they’d been together –, Steve stepped up and ushered them deeper into the room, urging them to take off their heavy coats and gloves. “We realised that this is the only weekend that coincides with everyone being off, so we decided to throw a party. Christmas and whatnot.”

                He sounded genuine and pleasant, but Bucky’s earlier words echoed back to him, something about an anniversary … but there was no other indication of them dedicating the party to them. Glancing over at Bucky, he could see the same wheels turning in his head. Shrugging his shoulders, Clint pulled his hand free of Bucky’s, fingers instantly moving to the buttons and zippers that lined the front, pulling them free. Despite how frigid it had been outside, it was getting too hot for him now. The others were milling about the table with a concession of foods and drinks, laughter and a hint of Christmas music playing in the background. He couldn’t help but smile, feeling so complete that it had his heart thrumming loudly inside of his chest. And then his heart started slamming almost painfully hard when he felt fingers at the collar of his coat, pulling it off and away from him. Bucky had done that, and he was acting as though it was completely normal. Which it was, of course, but the sight of him doing it, being so domestic, wanting to do things, to make him happy … His breath choked up, clogging his throat, and all he could do when Bucky made eye-contact with him was stare at him.

                Were there any words to truly express how desperately, hopelessly in love he was with him?

                “Food’s getting cold, boys.” Natasha said, her voice a purr. The rolls appeared to shift then, Clint’s face pulling into a scowl at his best friend’s perfectly timed interruption. Luckily for her, Bucky merely laughed, a gorgeous pull of his lips, bringing out dimples and a twinkle in his eyes that made the blues shimmer.

                “Yes, ma’am.” Bucky replied, wrapping an arm around Clint, steering him toward the table of food and drinks, toward the rest of the Avengers, who held plates and cups of liquid. They were all smiling and laughing and the atmosphere was comfortable and companionable, and Natasha was smiling, so perhaps Clint could forgive her for interrupting. Bucky’s arm moved down, his hand resting at the small of his back, chin resting on his shoulder as he looked over all of the assortments in front of him on the long table. “What are you going to get?” He whispered against Clint’s ear, causing a shiver to race down his spine.

                “I don’t know.” He couldn’t fight the urge to reach up and tangle a hand in Bucky’s hair, to feel the softness of those unruly curls in between his fingertips. The act was so natural that no-one really made mention of it, though he could see Tony smirking in his drink, could see Natasha’s gaze softening ever so slightly, Steve outright beaming at how happy and content they probably looked. “The stuffed mushrooms look good.”

                Bucky snorted, the tickle of breath against his ear making him crazy. “You would like fungus.”

                “You would, too, if you gave them a chance.”

                “I’ll pass. Grab a plate and put some of those cheese-sticks on there.” Bucky replied, pointing toward a tray in the middle of the table that had more cheese-sticks than Clint had even seen in one place before. Obliging, Clint grabbed the plate, hating the lack of contact. But it was only for a moment, and he knew that Bucky would stay close, wouldn’t leave his side. Perhaps that was bad in a way, bordering on attachment, but neither of them truly cared. Natasha had made a comment about that before, when they were first getting together, when they had realised how big of an impact they made together, but it was something that Clint had immediately knocked down. They stayed close, because they loved being close. That was all.

                Of course, that had morphed into something that words couldn’t explain. It had a warm buzz fill his heart whenever he thought about it, how perfectly Bucky fit against his side, how perfect he was with Lucky, how happy they all were together. It beat everything else that had happened in their lives, because it sure as hell hadn’t been easy.

                “You would like eating sticks filled with white liquid.” The comment, like predicted, had most of the Avengers making disgusted noises, their faces screwing up into scrunched expressions. Clint laughed and Bucky smiled grandly, shaking his head, and turning Clint’s face toward him, pressing their lips firmly together, as though that would stop stupid, corny things from slipping through.

                “You talk too much.” He repeated, though he sounded endeared, as though there was nothing he enjoyed more than hearing Clint speak. Instead of replying back with a funny quip or sarcastic note, Clint simply leaned in closer, brushing their lips together until they were melded together again, the rest of the world completely disappearing until they pulled apart once more.

                “All right, already. Can we eat without throwing up now? Geez, it’s Rated-X all the time now.”

                “Hey, Stark?” When Tony turned to face Bucky, Bucky easily flipped him the bird, making a point of wrapping his arms firmly around Clint’s waist, holding him close. Clint snorted and stuck a cheese-stick into his mouth, using that distraction to put a few stuffed mushrooms onto the plate, as well. Regardless of what Bucky thought of them, Clint was determined to make him like mushrooms. They had forever, right?

* * *

 

                It wasn’t until closer to midnight that Clint realised that the scene around him looked eerily familiar. Furrowing his brow, he extracted himself from Bucky’s warm arms to take a look around the room once more. Snow was falling steadily from the sky, the windows fogged due to how cold it was outside and how warm it was inside. The table filled to the brim with food, the table of drinks, ranging from alcohol to soda to water, the floating lanterns that covered the high ceilings, the companionable air around the room. And when the dots finally clicked, when he finally realised exactly what he was seeing, only then did Bucky’s earlier words about Steve setting up a party for them finally connected. It hadn’t appeared that way before, but with them now there, it made all the sense in the world. They had re-constructed the first night Bucky and Clint kissed. It was stupid and sappy and they had the nerve to call Clint corny, but it had a ball of emotion to form in the pit of his stomach, because it was perfect and subtle and there wasn’t any attention on them, even though they were the stars of the party, and Bucky was suddenly looking at him, looking ethereal and euphoric and so beautiful –

                “You did this.” The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them, but once they were out, he realised that he didn’t want to stop them, because they were true. There was no way Bucky could sit there and look at him like that and not have something to do with this evening. And when Bucky smiled then, breaking character, revealing the truth, Clint found himself smiling, as well, mirroring him. “You did!”

                Bucky shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, as though what he had done didn’t deserve the shock and admiration and sheer happiness that it had caused Clint. “It took some working around. And we had to make sure it coincided with the weather, because it was snowing that day, but yeah … it was nothing.”

                Clint watched in amazement as Bucky’s cheeks reddened in obvious embarrassment. It was so foreign on him, even after all the time that they’ve shared together, that it left Clint reeling. Without even thinking about what he was doing – he never really did when it came to him –, he reached over and curled their fingers together, gripping them tightly. “Bucky, this is not nothing. This is … it’s incredible.”

                “I’m glad.” Bucky replied lowly.

                He couldn’t stop himself from turning his gaze upward once more. Knowing the truth, that Bucky was the one responsible for putting this all together, re-creating the date that they had shared their first kiss, he had to take it all in, had to bring all of those memories back to the forefront of his mind, so he could watch it all unfold once more. The floating lanterns that were suspended in the air with their various shapes and sizes, colours and sayings. The tables with an array of foods and drinks – most of which Clint recognised to have been present just last year – that were positioned under windows and off to the side. The Christmas music. The people around him. He couldn’t help but swallow thickly, another wave of emotion hitting him harder than what he thought possible. Because it was all done for him, for them.

                Clint smiled softly, uncaring of the build-up of tears that were trying to well up in his eyes. “This is the movie we were watching …”

                “And that’s the horrible sweater Steve and Tony were wearing.” Bucky chimed in, chuckling at the playing glare Steve threw at him when he heard what was being said. He held up his hands in defence when Steve pointedly flipped him off from where he had his arm around Tony, causing Clint to laugh at the absolute absurdity of it all. This was his life and he couldn’t have been happier.

                Curling himself against Bucky’s side, Clint closed his eyes and took in a deep breath, feeling his heart pounding against his rib-cage. Never in his life would he have thought something like this was possible. That he could have found such peace and happiness. That this type of thing would even be granted to someone like him – someone who had done their own fair share of chaos, someone who had blood on their hands. And he was pretty sure that Bucky felt the same way, if the way his arms immediately wound around Clint had anything to say, as though the very idea of letting him go was something he couldn’t possibly fathom.

                “Thank you.” He found himself whispering, not trusting himself to speak any higher. But he knew that Bucky heard him. Knew the gravity of his words. Knew how deeply they were coming. Because it wasn’t just for him. It was for Bucky, too. For all that they’ve been through. For all that they shared. It was a testament to everything they were to each other, because their line of business was a bloody one, and every minute they shared was precious and invaluable.

                Because every moment they shared together could possibly be their last.

* * *

 

                It was well after three in the morning when they left the Tower. There was ice and snow stuck to the streets and sidewalks, ice and snow still falling from the darkened sky, yet that didn’t stop people from walking around, even at such a late hour. They didn’t say much as they made their way through the sludge and dirty snow, only chuckled and laughed when they slipped. It was companionable and nice, and Clint couldn’t stop smiling the entire way there, his heart pounding for reasons he couldn’t possibly fathom. It wasn’t a bad thing, though. Far from it, in fact. He felt giddy, his cheeks flushed for reasons that went beyond the freezing temperatures and the wind that whipped around them, biting and cold, stinging their eyes and making them water. It was a relief when they finally made it back to their apartment, trudging up the steps at a slow pace. It wasn’t like they needed to rush, wasn’t like they had something to do.

                Only when they started ascending closer and closer to their floor did Clint started to slow down, his stomach twisting and turning and coiling into something uncomfortable and strange. And it wasn’t until they reached their floor and Bucky started going through his pockets did he realise what it was, the sensation so foreign that Clint couldn’t help but snort. It was embarrassing and humiliating, and the very idea of telling Bucky had his face heating up – a reaction that had nothing to do with shifting from a cold climate to a warmer one. But Bucky had found the key, was reaching toward the lock –

                “I’m nervous.” He blurted out before he could fight with himself any more. He watched as Bucky’s brows raised in confusion and then to immediate alarm at what he thought Clint meant. His muscles tensed and his metal arm whirled, eyes locking on the door, as though he could see through it, assess the danger, and plan a counterattack before he even walked into the situation. “It’s not that.”

                Bucky’s eyes flickered over to him. It was instantaneous, the way his guard fell, defences faltering, because he trusted Clint, knew that Clint wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t lie to him, or put him into situations where he would feel at his most vulnerable. And it had his heart bursting all over again, because this – _this –_ wouldn’t have ever happened if they hadn’t of met. If they hadn’t of been on that mission. If they hadn’t of shot the same guy. If they hadn’t of looked at each other. There were so many possibilities, so many things that could have factored what they were now, what they meant to each other now. Would Bucky have been as poised and relaxed as he was if they hadn’t of met? Would Steve’s presence be able to bring him back from the depths that he had sunken since his time with Hydra? Would Clint have been able to step up and be the person that Bucky needed him to be after dealing with his own demons?

                They did, though. They had been on that same mission. They had shot that same guy. They had looked at each other and laughed, reeling about the probable chances of that even happening. They had done everything right and their reward was forever. Because Clint honestly couldn’t imagine the rest of his life without Bucky and, with the way Bucky was looking back at him, Clint believed the feeling to be mutual.

                Swallowing thickly, ignoring the maelstrom of sensations that were causing havoc in his stomach, Clint took a step forward, slowly closing the distance between them. He could hear his heart pounding in his chest, could feel the unsteady breaths that fanned over his face from Bucky’s parted lips. And then his eyes fluttered shut as their lips brushed. Warmth spread throughout his entire body, causing him to gasp lightly. Bucky’s hands abandoned his search for apartment keys and wound them around Clint, pulling him closer, the act deepening the kiss all the more. Bucky’s breath was hot in his mouth, and Clint’s head was spinning with the feelings that were slamming into him, leaving him breathless.

                He had no idea how long they stayed like that, their lips melded together, hands slowly roaming over each other’s body, touching and feeling, revelling in the way the other gasped against their fingers. Clint’s head was swimming and he could sense just how affected Bucky was. At least he wasn’t the only one that was reeling, wasn’t the only one who was panting. It had been freezing outside, but inside the building, standing outside of their apartment, he could feel moisture building at the base of his neck, trickling slowly down his back. And he could feel Bucky’s heat, the solid warmth that engulfed him and swallowed him whole. His strong presence enough to make Clint feel happy and content and lucky and so incredibly whole.

                “I think I remember how our anniversary ended last year.” Bucky said against his lips, pressing a kiss after each word. The motion was enough to make pressure build in his chest, but it also had frustration welling up deep within his belly.

                “Yeah?” He asked back, hands trailing steadily down Bucky’s chest, down to his stomach, and lower … “How?”

                His eyes snapped open when he heard the knob on their door breaking, Bucky’s metal hand forcing it to bounce against the wall. Before he even had the chance to open his mouth, he was being pulled into their apartment. It looked exactly how it did before they left, with the exception of a missing dog. But Clint wasn’t worried. He trusted his neighbour a floor above him to take good care of Lucky. And as Bucky kicked the door closed and started pulling off his jacket, cursing under his breath when his scarf got tangled around his neck and in the plates of his arm, Clint looked around the room, taking in all the subtle differences since Bucky came into his life and changed everything.

                Like the kitchen table that was pushed against the wall, sitting under a window. On the surface, it contained the pieces of no less than six guns, ranging in make and model.

                Like the armchair in the corner of the living room. While it was made for sitting, his compact bow was propped against the side, the quiver knocked onto its side, twenty-four arrows scattered about the cushion and the floor around it. Despite how nervous he was having them around Lucky, he hadn’t yet moved them to a more secure location.

                Like the fridge. Instead of the stainless steel being covered with take-away menus, it now contained pictures of them and the Avengers. Some were planned – others had been discreetly taken by Bucky when no-one was looking. And it was only after several weeks after they started appearing did he realise he was constantly in the centre of them. Scattered around the people he considered his family, laughing and smiling, dishevelled and orderly. It didn’t matter. Perhaps that was why Clint started taking pictures of Bucky, too.

                Like his mind-set before and after missions away from home. There hadn’t been much that Clint thought about before he went on SHIELD-missions. He had an assignment and he did it. He made decisions spur-of-the-moment, because that was sometimes what was needed during the heat of things. But now that Bucky was in his life, Clint wasn’t ashamed to admit that his outlook on how he handled missions, on how he reacted to certain situations, had drastically changed. Of course, he cared about Lucky and would do anything for him, but he knew that someone within the apartment would give him a good home should anything happen. He did not think, however, that Bucky would be able to deal with something happening to him. Maybe that was why he made the smart call. Why he took extra care to take care of himself. Why he went out of his way to stay out of the line of fire if he could get away with it.

                His eyes fell shut once more when he felt Bucky’s hands on his skin, lips pressed gingerly to the side of his neck. A shiver raced down his spine when his coat was pulled off his body, the air causing bumps to form over his exposed flesh. It wasn’t uncomfortable, though, not when Bucky’s arms were quick to replace it, flooding him with warmth and heat, heart pounding and head spinning, causing the world around him to shift and turn and tilt all around him.

                “God, I love you.” The words were enough to knock the breath right out of Clint, because he knew more than anyone just how deep that truly meant. How far Bucky had grown to even get to the point where he put himself in such a vulnerable position. To trust anyone on their word. To allow them to touch him.

                Pressure began to build behind his eyes, but Clint blinked the moisture away, his lips slowly pulling upward, his heart swelling with pride and happiness. “I love you, too.”

                He watched as Bucky opened his mouth to say something, but furrowed his brows instead, as though he had lost the ability to speak, to say what was on his mind. Instead of putting him on the spot, instead of waiting for him to say something, Clint leaned forward and peppered the side of his neck with kisses, loving each and every sound that he was able to entice out of Bucky, secretly counting each and every moan and sigh that slipped past his lips.

                “I definitely remember how this evening ended last year.” Clint said, tongue flicking out to lap at Bucky’s pulse, smiling at how it spiked. “Would you like me to show you?”

                “Jesus.” Bucky groaned, head swooping down to capture his lips once more, the desperation palpable, the need driving him now more than ever.

                Clint hummed and turned around once the kiss had been broken, slowly shedding his huge jacket, stepping out of his shoes, purposely leaving a trail of clothing as he made his way deeper into the apartment, closer to their bedroom. His heart was pounding and that nervous feeling was returning, but it wasn’t as strong as it had been. And only when he slipped out of his shirt and started fiddling with the buttons on his jeans did he realise that it was because of how deeply he cared for Bucky. Because he didn’t want to disappoint him, didn’t want to hurt him, didn’t want to put him into positions he normally wouldn’t tolerate. Because he loved his smile and he loved his laugh, loved how he got up early to take care of Lucky, how he made breakfast and cleaned up the house. Because he loved how he held him and touched him, loved the random moments where he couldn’t help but make some form of physical contact. Because Bucky had been through hell, had more bad things happen to him than good, yet he still relied on Clint to be there, to take care of him.

                And as Bucky entered the room and turned Clint around, as he laid Clint down on the bed and crawled over top him, his fingers soft and hands gently roaming over his skin, as Clint kissed him and pulled euphoric sounds from him – sounds that no-one else heard but him –, he realised one simple thing.

                The depths he felt for Bucky were undefinable and impossible to predict. The depths that he felt for Bucky couldn’t be explained in words or in any touch. Feelings like that never could. They were vast and strong, potent and all-encompassing. And he would spend the rest of his life nurturing it. For him. For Bucky.

* * *

_I love you without knowing how or when or from where. I love you simply without problem or pride. I love you in this way, because I do not know any other way of loving but this, in which there is no you and I. So intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand, so intimate that when I fall asleep, your eyes close._

– Pablo Neruda


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